London Bridge
by FacelessNightmare
Summary: Canada finally desides it's time for England to pay for all the years he ignored him; just what is he planning? snapped!Canada, England, country names used, warning: torture


**Just lettin' you guys know that I won't be posting new chapters to **_**Count the Scars**_** for a little while; I need to give some attention to the book I'm trying to write and I'm starting to draw a blank for the chapters any how. IF YOU HAVE IDEAS FOR **_**COUNT THE SCARS**_** PLEASE TELL ME~!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own APH or any of the characters, this fanfic is in no way realated to any historical advent or what ever that I know of (real or fictional), and snapped!Canada will kill you in your sleep if you troll me. (people on other sites have been doing that lately)**

_London Bridge_

"-My fair lady~" Canada sang softly as he ran his fingers over the 'instruments', selecting a dainty scaple out of the lot. The blonde country turned to face his new 'toy'. England, once a lively and stubborn country, breathed shakily after a three-hour-long attempt to struggle free of the ropes and chains that bound him in the basement of Canada's house. "Build it up with clay and wood, clay and wood, clay and wood~ Build it up with clay and wood, my fair lady~" the younger nation sang cheerfully, dragging the increadably sharp blade accross his father's face in several directions. The Canadian smiled angelicly as he tipped his head of to one side. "Won't you please scream for me, my dear England, eh?" he asked, giggling like a fool at the childish glare shot in his direction by said person. "Clay and wood will wash away, wash away, wash away~ Clay and wood will wash away, my fair lady~" Canada sang softly, carelessly tossing the now-bloodied scaple over his shoulder as he directed his attention back to his lovely collection of torture utensils, kindly provided by his intimidating neighbour, Russia. His hand was hovering over a lighter as he peered at the English-man through the corner of his eye, violet iris burning with years of hate.

"You're being uncharacteristicly silent today... Has Her Majesty fallen ill or something?" Canada said simply, grabbing the lighter with a smile that could put Russia to shame. "I don't need to talk." the elder nation hissed, spitting out the blood that filled his mouth. Canada's smile momentarilly vanished; the look of pure hate twisting the features of his face into a monsterous image. It only lasted long enough for Enlgand to gasp in fear. The startled sound made his son's smile return. "Oh, England... Maybe slaughtering a few hundred of your people wasn't enough? I wonder what will happen if I start to burn every thing down?" Canada giggled, momentarily fiddling with the lighter until a flame flickered to life. The soft-spoken nation slowly brought the lighter to the bottem of his victim's shirt, smiling as the tiny blazr spread and ate away at the fabric. It didn't take long for the room to be filled with the sound of England's screams; his cloaths and most of his body engulfed in red-hot flames. Content only after he could see the blood throught the fire, the younger country leasurly picked up a very large bucket of water from the ground and splashed liqued onto England, putting out the fire. "Build it up with iron and steel, iron and steel, iron and steel~ Build it up with iron and steel, my fair lady~" Canada sang loudly, spinning in a circle and laughing as he waited for Enlgand to open his some how undamaged eyes. Iron and steel will bend and bow, bend and bow, bend and bow~ Iron and steel will bend and bow, my fair lady~" he continued the song, inspecting the damage done to the formerly strong and healthy country.

England was hardly reconisable now. His flesh was black and red; burns so deep that large patches of red and pink muscle and tissue that bled a vibrant crimson. His hair was almost intirely burnt off; only what looked like a singed buzz-cut remaining. He was nude due to his cloaths having been burnt off, but his but his body was too mangled to show off any indesencey. To Canada, it was the beautiful revenge he had wanted.

There was just to much pain for England to handle; both physically and mentally. His men, women, and children. All burning to death as Canadian troops bombed buildings, set feilds, farms, and forests on fire, and shot every British person they saw; no matter the gender or age. Infants and children cried and screamed, women and men alike were begging for mercy, and even the elderly were brutally beaten. Fire-arms were going off left and right as citizens desperately clung to life, groping around fruitlessly in the ink-blackness of their fate. The grusome scenes and sounds flashed through England's mind were as painful as having his heart stabbed over and over. He screamed in agony and fear, eyes wild and terrified. "Make it stop! Please, make it stop now!" the older nation pleaded, crying with pain and grief.

Canada laughed at his pleading and cries, returning to the table. "Build it up with silver and gold, silver and gold, silver and gold~ Build it up with silver and gold, my fair lady~" He picked up a large knife, much like the one Belarus often carried around, and admiringly ran his fingers over the shining medal. Now far to scared to even make the slightest noise as tears streamed down his wounded face, stinging the burnt flesh, England stared in horror at the knife so carefully cradled in his ex-colony's petit pale-white hands. Canada walked up to the tortured man, carefully seating himself on his lap; leaning back on one of the burnt arms of the chair, legs dangling over the other. The young blonde pushed his glasses up before draping one of his arms over England's shoulders in a sort of half-hug as he stared sadly at the blade in his other hand. "It's so sad, daddy-dear... You always paid so much attention to America, but you rarely even remembered my name. I was so lonely... so lonely...You know, I loved you, eh?" Canada said in his soft, angelic and yet some-what sad voice that all the other countries had gotten so used to ignoring. Enlgand's breath hitched in his throat when he looked into his sons's eyes. Those violet eyes told a sad story of years of pain, suffering, and loneliness. "Yes... I _loved_ you, but there's no more room for love now." Canada chuckled, digging the knife into England's stomach, causing him to scream and cough up metallic-smelling blood. "Silver and gold will be taken away, taken away, taken away~ Silver and gold will be taken away, my fair lady~" he sang out, digging and twisting the knife around, laughing madly.

It hardly took even a minute for England's eyes to dim of life; the last of his people being finnished off. Canada leaned forward and left a bitter-sweet kiss on the near-dead country's cheek. "Don't worry, England, I'll take very good care of every one for you." he whispered devilishly, smiling sweetly as his father let out his last breath of life.

"London bridge has fallen down, my dear England~!"

**Thank you for reading! Critique is very welcome here! ^w^**

**Also, just a reminder to my readers, the PruCan contest I'm holding is still going on! Please go to my profile for more information if you're interested.**

**Also, hopefully **_**Count the Scars**_** won't be delaid for to long; but I really do need to work on my novel some more. I am just about dead for ideas for the next few chapters in the fanfic though, so now is an ideal time to comment or note me some suggestions and things you want to see happen! Please don't hesitate to share with me! ^_^**


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